


Drowning in You

by oh_my_stars_and_sky



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_my_stars_and_sky/pseuds/oh_my_stars_and_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley's in solitary at Belle Reve, having been abandoned by the Joker. She is haunted by how he warped her, and unsure of who she is. June Moon, better known as Enchantress,  is in the cell down the hall, close enough to hear Harley's anguish first hand which, coupled with the rumors swirling around the tattooed blonde, more than peak June's interest and sympathy.The Joker, for his part, almost wishes he missed Harley, but he doesn't, he just feels off his game for wishing that, she really was not much more than a pawn. A rook, if you will. He looks back on a career riddled with murder and deceit and where he once felt proud, he now feels only empty. Even the one person who he tried so hard to love didn't matter all that much to him in the end.He feels alone.And he's not the only one, Batman is struggling to cope with his own apathy after loosing yet another Robin only to start the search for who would replace him.The first time they meet as themselves, it's an accident. El Diablo blows up some of the cells, so June and Harley have to cohabitate for a time.Bruce Wayne and Jack Napier are in the same low class dive, trying not to be recognized.And if all that happens after is a beautiful disaster, it's fitting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for atmospheric music, listen to Toxic by Melanie Martinez for the Harley Quinn section and Lost in My Mind by The Head and The Heart for the June Moon section.
> 
> I just love these characters :")
> 
> Batman and joker will take precedence in the next chapter, I promise!

Harley Quinn

The bars of her cage were too hot to touch. She giggled, pulling her knees in to her chest and letting her stringy blonde locks fall into her face.

Too hot.

Too HOT.

They'd told her they'd put her behind cold hard steel.

But it was too hot to touch.

AhahahahahaTOO HOT.

She giggled, and then shivered, pulling her legs closer in, digging her long, ragged, uncut nails into her calves so fervently she drew blood.

It spilt out onto her fingertips, baptizing them cherry. Or maybe it was more of a brick.

No.

No, it was scarlet.

Scar-let.

Scarlet lips...

She shivered again, running her bloody fingers through the left side of her hair, staining it it's proper punish hue. HER hue. HER red.

Not his scarlet, NOT his lips.

But while her hair might be a lighter shade, the blood leaking down her shins was undeniably his.

His color. His shade.

His lips. Scar-let, always.

Always scarlet.

She laughed again,ripping through the tense silence of her solitude, she laughed in big, upper case letters, just like he always had.

HA HAHAHA HAHA HA HAHA-AAAGH

Her laughter turned to a long, raw wail, lonesome and rough as she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling, all at once, all the places he'd pressed those Scarlet lips.

She rocked back and forth slowly on the floor of her cell, still moaning.

All the many places...

Her forehead

'I promised you I wouldn't kill you, didn't i?'

The heart on her cheek

'You can have whatever you want now Harley, can't you? But what you want, is what I want, isn't it? That's right, it is.'

The inside of her thigh

'You know what I love most? That look you get in your eyes just before you use that bat of yours. You look positively unhinged. It's delicious.'

And god, had she enjoyed it then, those Scar-let lips that were so damn talented.

Her palm

'Oh, my dear lady, but we're going to rule the world'

They got reckless, HE got reckless, thought he was unstoppable, of course he did, and she followed him, of course she did, who could resist following those Scarlet lips?

Her neck

'You're mine, Harley, no going back now. No matter what. I MADE you, Harley, I own you.'

And at the time it made her heart beat fast, made her writhe in the best way, but now it made her moaning turn to high pitched screaming cause now-

Her lips

'I really hate to do this, Har, but I can't go back. See, they'd just try and make me see another psychiatrist, and everyone knows there's only ever one who really gets ya, and I've already had mine. So I'll see you round, kid. Or not. Probably not.'

And then he'd left her, in the smoking crash of his pale pink sports car, left her half passed out, left her to the Batman.

And that was the last time she tasted his lips, the last time they touched her in the flesh, but she felt them, all the time, alone in her cage of jail cell.

'You're mine, Harley.' 'See you round, kid. Or not'

'I MADE you.' 'Probably not.'

What did this MAKE her???

'No matter what. I MADE you, Harley, I own you.'

Discarded. It made her discarded.

Not free, still bound, but discarded.

The beads of blood trailing down her legs had reached the floor and formed pretty little pools.  
Dipping a trembling finger in one, she brought it to the left side of her chest, writing in an unsteady hand,

HA HA  
HA

Just over where her heart ought to be.

Miserable, she curled up into a ball on the floor of her cell. She couldn't even rattle the bars, they were too hot to touch. She forgot what she did to deserve that punishment.

She was drained, and tired, so tired, but sleep was still so far away with her mind still screaming and her skin still stinging from three years of kisses.

Discarded. Not free, still bound.

But did she want to be?

She shivered again.

That was a scary question.

...................

June Moon

It Was mostly the little things she missed. The smell of acrylic paint. The hum of an acoustic guitar. Smiles. People smiling at her. Hiking. She smiled reminiscently, remembering the rustling of leaves, the feeling of dirt between her toes.

Ah, hiking.

The song of a nightingale busting high above, the sky, indigo and purple, tinged with sea foam, littered with white hot stars.

The crackling smell of campfire. The laughter of friends...

Hiking. 

She sighed, stretching out languidly, like a cat, with her back up against the wall of her cell. She winced, the buzz in the back of her mind that was always there momentarily worsening.

It would flare up and take over sometimes, and she wouldn't be able to control herself and she would do horrible things.

That's why she was in here.

She could hone it sometimes, but she didn't like to.

She was a creator; a writer, a singer, a painter, an artist.

The buzz had no interest in creating. The buzz destroyed.

Sunlight. She missed sunlight. There were no windows in her cell, save a boarded up grate on her door that used to let her peer out onto the hall.

Faintly, in the distance, she heard a shrill piercing cry. 

Harley Quinn.

Her face donned a concerned sort of smile as she scrambled to the door of her cell, pressing her ear to the almost nonexistent crack to hear better.

Harley Quinn.

Quite the enigma.

They'd brought her in back when the grate on the cell door hadn't been boarded up. She doesn't remember why they boarded it up, what she did to deserve that, but it must've been pretty bad cause it'd been two weeks now and they hadn't unboarded the door yet. But back then, the grate hadn't been boarded up, and June could press her eyes right up to the grate, and wasn't she a pretty picture, Harley Quinn, petite and pale and tattooed with scraggly blonde curls and bright swirling blue green eyes that, just from a moment, locked with June's own. 

Back when the grate hadn't been boarded up, if June crane her neck at a certain angle up to it, she could just make out Harley, in her cage within a cage within a cage.

A few weeks ago, just before they'd boarded up the grate, she'd watched Harley beat the shit out of a guard through the bars of her cage.

They'd started heating up the bars of Harley's cage after that, so she couldn't touch them. June had heard the guards talking about it.

Harley was always either laughing or screaming. 

June wished she could laugh along, that she was in on the joke. Or that she could quell the other girl's pained screams. But instead she was stuck behind a boarded up door, all alone with her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, to clarify, the chapters will alternate between Harley\June and Joker\Batman
> 
> Also, shout out to Sapphy and altered_eagle, they're two of my favorite Batjokes writers, you guys should go check them out,their writing is pretty fantastic.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to clarify, the chapters will alternate between Harley\June and Joker\Batman
> 
> Also, shout out to Sapphy and altered_eagle, they're two of my favorite Batjokes writers, you guys should go check them out,their writing is pretty fantastic.
> 
> Enjoy!

Joker

The mirror was cracked, and he thought that was damn good metaphor as he began smearing greasepaint over his forehead.

He also thought he should push back the subway bombing back from 5:45 to 6:00, and he thought he should switch safe houses again, he'd been at this one too long, and he thought about how odd it was so many falling apart motels and rundown apartment building could cater so easily to the criminal isn't this the sort of place where the cops expect crime??

But that was Gotham's cops for you. The Donut Shops got well patroled.

And he thought about how he always did miss the thrill of the chase when he was locked up in stuffy old Arkam, and he thought immediately then of Harley, who was floating in the dark and foreboading backround of his slowly imploding and most destructive mind, thought mostly of how soft her skin had been compared to hisown, and how willing she had been, except she hadn't been willing, not at all, he'd made her willing, hadn't he, he'd made her love him, and that was his mistake, wasn't it, he thought-

He knew he couldn't love her, he couldn't love, and even if he could, he didnt-

Then he thought it was best if he stopped thinking as he smeared copious amounts of greasepaint over his cheekbones.

Battle paint.  
Bat tle paint.

Although the Bat bit undermined the battle bit becasue he and the Bat didn't battle, he thought, they danced, and he kept thinking about the Bat, even though he'd just resolved not to think.

Oh, how the Bat danced.

It was just lovely. Just ducky, really and if a few hundred people had to be killed to get the Bat on the dancefloor, what's the difference?

Who cares?

Not him, not if the Bat would come out and dance, he thought.

You know what else he didn't care about? 

Harley Quinn. Not at all.   
And he meant it, he really did, right down to his core.

He didn't care.

Not him.

Not at all.

He didn't love. And even if he did, he didn't swing that way, so who cares? 

Not him, he thought. Not him.

But

But

But there was a twinge deep in his stomach.

Something that tasted like stale bread and too sour lemonade and it sounded like her laugh, deranged and blurry.

Sorrow. Regret maybe.

He swallowed hard as he put a name to it, meeting his own eye in the cracked metaphor of a mirror, makeup only half done.

Self pity, he thought.

She loved him, and he hadnt cared, she'd only loved him because he made her love him, anyway, he thought, but it'd been nice, to be loved, even in the broken, wreched way she loved.

And he thought, he thought maybe that was the only time he'd ever get to have that, and now it was only in hindsight, in memory.

He has never loved, he thought,

But he has been loved, and he realizes he misses it.

Not the girl, who cares about the girl, the girl is irrelevant, just the feeling. 

Which he knows is horrible, but hey, he never said he wasnt fucked up.

And then he thought that if an existential crisis was what being loved got him, maybe he was better off.

And then he thought he should really finish his make up of he was going to make the subway bomb at 5:45 or even 6:00.

And then he put his makeup down.

............................

 

In the end, he cancelled the subway bombings.

Couldn't have the Bat see him off his game like that, and anyway, there were always subways to bomb. That could wait till he had this all sorted.

He washed his face, cleaning it, and in doing so,cluttering it with scars that had been cloaked in paint.

Not just around his mouth, either. All over. 

He took inventory.

Two eyes, a deadish, depressed jungle green he'd always hated. A mouth, lighter than when adorned with his signature shade, but still red. A nose, not egregiously large or noticeably small. Two unremarkable ears.

But over his left eye was a chemical burn from he doesn't remember what and under his right is a thin scar from a well placed stab from presumably someone good at fighting, but he doesn't remember who. A marr here, a scar there, all over. And of course, his mouth. The scars there were glaring, brutally magnificent.

His forehead read Damadged and there was a J below his left eye.

His hair was strawberry blonde ( the green dye was temporary, it was too distinctive too keep up except when he was dancing with the Bat) and it fell haphazardly in curls all over. His skin, bare, was only a shade darker than the paint that usually covered it.

He didn't want to paint his skin though. But he also didn't want to keep looking at the collection of scars staring back at him from inside the cracked mirror.

He needed a break from being scarred.

It dawned on him slowly, and be cackled as it finally hit him.

Concealer. He needed concealer.

.............

 

It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it'd be to get some either. He just sent a henchmen out to the drug store, with a 50 and orders to get "all the, ah, porcelain ones" and, a half hour or so of testing colors in the cracked metaphor of a mirror, he was satisfied.

It wasn't perfect, but for the most part, he looked passably normal. Only the scars around his mouth threatened to show through, but oh, well.

No one paid any attention anyway.

His new face didn't drown out his earlier thoughts, per se, which pissed him off, but he figured that's cause he hadn't done anything with it yet. 

The next logical step in banashing his thoughts, of course, was alcohol.

But drinking alone was so terribly depressing.

Whatever to do, he thought, and muttered to his new reflection in the cracked mirror.

.....................  
Batman

Tired. That's all that's left, really. Tired. No longer was there resolve, only resignment. Where there was passion, heat, now there's just routine.

And he HATES it. Wants to pick up and sell everything and give the money away and just leave. Walk away. He wants to.

But he won't, he knows he can't, knows this city is precariously on the verge of collapse always, fucking always, and that's when he's here, if he left itd just be rubble.

But he wants to leave.

It's too much, too much pain, too much death, too many late nights, too many bulletholes, too many stab wounds, too much.

So much that it doesn't even hurt anymore.  
Building gets blown up?   
Shit, oh well, better go catch the Joker or something. Massacre on the subway?  
That's too fucking bad, isn't it, better go catch the Joker or something.  
Robin die, like he did last fucking month?  
Isn't that just a fucking pity, now pick yourself up by your bootstraps and go catch the Joker or something.

Robin was dead. Again.

He'd lost count what number Robin this was, how many he'd had before, how many he'd lost.

It didn't matter.

Robin was dead.

The Joker, though, the Joker was alive and kicking.

The Joker, the Joker, the Joker. 

They were supposed to hate each other.

He was supposed to hate the Joker.

But the Joker was a constant, the Joker held true through a constantly crumbling world. Sick, maybe, pschotic, definitely, but true and strong all the same.

Privately, secretly, in the darkest corners of his mind, he thought of the Joker more as a friend than anything else lately.

A crazy, mass murdering friend not entirely in touch with reality that he had to babysit.

But a friend. Sort of. 

His only friend, if he was being honest.

But that was only privately, only in the darkest corners of his mind. In the light, the most he was allowed to call the Joker was a constant.

He wasnt supposed to think about the Joker, except in the context of how best to capture him, and he was fucking tired of that, too.

He was getting tired of putting on that heavy kevlar, getting sick of putting on the bullshit playboy act, getting fucking tired.

But he couldn't leave.

Not permanently, at least.

But maybe he could hunker down, just for a little while. But where the hell could be go, in his black mustang or Tumbler or limousine?

No, he needed something different.

...............

 

He could've easily arranged for someone else to go fetch him some sort of inconspicuous car and new clothes. But that wasnt the point, he had to do it himself, had to switch everything off.

So there he was, in the middle of a used car lot, with bags of well fitting jeans and plain tee shirts, listening to the woman in her too small, too pink pencil skirt and too clingy black blouse tell him, ' Why yes, the green Jeep, great selection, quite a handsome model', and thinking about how she looked vaugly remeniscent of the last woman he took to dinner and then took to bed so newspapers could take pictures of the playboy Bruce Wayne. 

And he was thinking about how he stopped enjoying those nights before he started having them because it might've been Penelope Grayson he took to Senior Prom in High School, but he'd only really had eyes for Michael Walsh, the school's star quarterback.

But it was just as well, really, that he go on meaningless dates and have meaningless sex with vapid, petty women. 

Less room for inconvient emotional attachment. 

Which brought him back to Robin, who he should've cared about, but all he could think about while burying him was how hard it would be to find a new one.

Which also brought him back to Joker, who had blood running down his face by the end of their last fist fight, and Bruce had had to practically physically restrain himself from wiping it away gently with his thumb and letting his hand rest there on the other man's cheek and apologizing softly and FUCK where did that even come from??

And so he paid the lady in the too small too pink skirt and he drove off in his new used forest green Jeep ( it was a nice color, wasn't it, he thought absently) driving towards no where, driving towards away, which somehow led him to the crumbling inner city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....I tried to get inside their heads, I'm not sure I succeeded.
> 
> Comments and kudos are awesome and appreciated!
> 
> Thank you lovely people for reading!:")


	3. Explosions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an explosion, some remembering, and the first spark of a meeting

Harley Quinn

 

She knew explosions.

Loved em. Spent many a day blowing shit up, all damn day, 

so she was intimately familiar with the smoke-noxious smell that gripped you tight afterwards  
( not as tight as he had---NO don't think about him)

Knew the taste of one in the air,knew the heat, and so even curled up on the floor of her cell in a ball, she could feel it when a building away, something exploded

Something big, she could feel it in her bones,

and MAN, what a thrill,  
What a thrill,  
And a giggle escaped her as the faint BOOM  
Rumbled through her body

Ahahahahah-and then the giggling turned to coughing, and then she was hacking and HaCkiNg

And then she was tired  
So she curled up tighter  
And went to sleep

.........

The guards were so,  
so,  
UNFEELING.

so blank.

They were also in her cell, which was WRONG, and she didn't understand why they were there,  
saying get up,

Get Up

GET UP

and so she didn't get up, which made them less blank  
and more ANGRY

and they kicked her,  
and she laughed  
and they KICKED her,  
and she LaUgHeDDD  
and they kicked her, until she struggled to her feet.

Then, shackles.  
Handcuffs.

There must have been  
twenty gaurds at least

But they were still scared  
enough to put her in shackles  
Which made her laugh  
Which made her proud

She hadn't been out of that cell  
In over a year.

They lead her down a hallway,  
slowly,  
sssslowwwwly

Explaining to her  
in their unfeeling voices  
That a prisoner of higher security,

(The one who made that mmarrvelous  
EXPLOSION  
earlier, she thought)

had to be temporarily housed  
in her cell,  
and so she would have to  
Cohabitate  
with another prisoner  
TEMPORARILY

(They said this word like it was written in  
ALL CAPITAL LETTERS)

They said 

IF YOU MISBEHAVE THERE WILL BE  
SEVERE CONSEQUENCES

like it was written in Cap-locks, too.

They stopped,  
Abruptly,  
in front of a cell door  
with the bars boarded up tight  
And they entered a code  
into the keypad

Which sounded like  
a demented sort of song  
which made her laugh a little  
Soft, under her breath  
ha ha ha

And the door opened  
and there stood a girl  
With emerald green eyes  
And wild brown curls, half done in a braid,  
looking like it was Christmas Morning.

...................................  
June Moon

 

She had been braiding her hair when the explosion occurred. She had taken to braiding her hair and unbraiding it and braiding it again. It was comforting, it was distracting, it was something to do, and the more he did it the more it reminded her of home.

When she was very very young, her mother would braid her hair, and sing to her softly as she did, La Vie Un Rose, and she would braid her hair into many, many little braids, rows and rows of them.

When she was a little older, her sister took over her hair, and she braided it into two Pippi Longstocking braids, down the sides of her head. She didn't sing when she braided, nor was she particularly careful with the brush, but June look up to her no less.

When she hit high school, her best friend, Julia, used to braid her hair absent-mindedly as they sat on June's worn hardwood bedroom floor, talking about dreams and hopes and fears and secrets. June never told her how nice her hands felt running through her unruly locks, gently crafting one long braid off slightly to the side. June never told her how beautiful she looked, sitting there on the floor in the pools of sunlight and, sometimes, moonlight, offered by the window above June's bed. June never told her, but after Julie would leave June would keep the braid in for as long as she could.

When she went away to college, June had her first girlfriend. Her name was Amelia and she was a beauty student.In the sweet lulls of post coidal bliss, or sometimes on lazy Sunday mornings or rainy Thursday afternoons, Amelia would French braid June's hair so beautifully, her fingers nimble and light, and loving.

They broke up in June's senior year, and after that June let her hair run wild.

She let it run wild as she traveled the world, and she made new friends, found a job, and then THE THING happened, and then THE THING was in her head, and her hair was long and scraggly and wild all the way.

She hadn't ever braided her own hair until prison, but now, when she did, it felt like home.

It felt like love.

...................

It was at least an hour and a half after the explosion when she heard the guards approaching, talking to someone, something about cohabitation and consequences, and then she heard a laugh, and no, it couldn't be, could it?

She scrambled to her feet to press her ear to the door when she suddenly found it opening.

And there, in the doorway, stood a girl with tattoos and deep unfocused blue eyes.

Harley Quinn.

June caught her breath, and only faintly realized later she hadnt had the presence of mind to control her grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next Harley\June chapter (which will be up after the next Joker\Batman chapter which I promise will be up sooner than this one was and incase you were wondering yes the storylines will converge) will be their first interaction, which I'm super excited to write!!!
> 
> Your comments and kudos literally light up my life : )
> 
> Thank you lovely people for reading, and I promise to update soon!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker and Batman meet but not as the Joker and not as batman and not where either of them thought they would find themselves

Jay

The bar smells just rancid, and he absolutely loves it. The sweat and cigarette smoke kissing sloppily in the air is overpowering, and he can feel it in his lungs and in his blood and it is absolutely exactly what he needed. There’s no thinking in a place like this, no logic or reason but there’s rhythm, and there’s alcohol, and that gloriously rancid smell, which is exactly what he needs to get out of his goddamned head for more than thirty seconds.

He orders a whiskey, and sits down at the bar. The barkeep nods mutely and scuttles away. The stools, all lined up at the bar in an uneven, drowsy, meandering row are old and decrepit, some missing legs, some missing covers, and the room itself seems to shudder as the bar keep slams down a glass on the chipped countertop, fills it with whiskey, and slides it down the bar to where he’s sitting. He downs it in one smooth gesture, feels the liquor tidal wave down his throat, and it doesn't burn, the way people say whiskey’s supposed to, but he thinks that's probably just him, he tends to be an anomaly, especially when it comes to pain, but regardless of whether or not it burns it's good.

He’s still a long ways away from drunk, though, and that's really what he’s going for here, so he orders a round of shots, straight, and starts to survey the room.

There's a group of rowdy women in the corner, probably out drinking so one of them can forget some boy, and they're a fairly interrresting group, aren't they, two blondes a brunette and a redhead, and they walk into a bar, and that sounds like the start of a bad joke and he giggles lightly under his breath- one of the blondes is talking about cheating on her husband with the brunette, and the redhead looks uncomfortable, everyone keeps buying her drinks, she's probably the reason they're out,

And he looks away and downs the first of his shots which have just been passed down the bar to him. Swallows hard. Friends. The group of women were friends.

No longer interesting.

The switchblade in his pocket feels particularly heavy, making its presence more than known, begging, begging to be flicked open and pointed at the women, begging to draw pretty lines across all their pretty necks, but he doesn't heed its beckon, no, no, gotta keep a low profile, the concealer's worked so far and he'll be damned if he's gonna fuck it up now.

A man sits down at the other end of the bar.

He orders quietly to the barkeep, and then takes out a pad and paper and starts writing, or no, drawing maybe, and all the while Jay watches as he downs one after another of the shots he'd ordered and then orders another round.

The man is tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair shaggy, falling just to the man's ears, in a way that would suggest it was used being stiffly gelled and didn't quite know what to do with its newfound freedom. He has warm, chestnut eyes that dart around the room every so often in a manner that seems perfunctory, practiced. Interrrresting. His features are well defined, and his jawline is incredibly strong, and he is somehow intimately familiar in an a way that felt warm and promising as it mingled with the whiskey in Jay's belly.

Jay felt his fingers start to twitch.

Well, fuck.

The switchblade was still beckoning, but now something else was too and THIS, this is exactly why he doesn't go out and get shitfaced in the first place he thinks as he saunters over and settles in the bar stool next to the man.

Bruce

His grip on the steering wheel of the green Jeep is tighter than it should be, his knuckles are bone white, but it's been a long time since he's done this, he just needs to ease into this, just   
needs to relax.

The Rolling Stones are playing faintly in the background, and he hums along absentmindedly to Sympathy for The Devil as he drives in circles around the desolate, dirty city streets.

He doesn't know how long he drives for, doesn't even quite know where he is, which is good, which is what he was going for, and he vaguely registers that it's getting dark and he ought to go somewhere, and so as he passes a rundown looking bar, he pulls over and gets out.

He catches his reflection in the smudged glass of the front windows, illuminated by the fading sun beams fighting to shine through sooty air. 

He didn't look quite look like himself; at least, not like the person he’d become. He looked, perhaps, like who he could’ve been, if things had been different. The olive tee and dark jeans were well fitted and inconspicuous, but they looked good on him, settling just so across his broad shoulders and clinging just enough to his legs. He’d left his hair alone, which was something he hadn't done in ages. It had gotten a bit long for his liking, but that didn't really matter, because as Bruce Wayne wore it done up, gelled and mussed, and as Batman he slicked it back. Now it fell in his eyes, and it made him smile, which felt strange, but felt nice.

He pushed open the door to the bar. It was neither particularly crowded nor empty, which was nice, and gave him a chance to blend in. Be inconsequential.

He sat down at the bar across from a strawberry blonde man, motioning to the bartender and ordered himself some Jack Daniels before taking out a small moleskin notebook. It wasn't really dedicated to anything in particular: he jotted down ideas in it, sketched out ideas he could quite find the right words to describe.

Sometimes he would draw. No one knew he like to, not even Alfred, mostly because he wasn't really sure how to explain it. It was cathartic; it let him let go of things he couldn't talk about.

He drew his mother often.

Sometimes, after Batman-ing for god only knows how many hours, he would lock himself up in his room and draw the things he’d seen, the real upsetting ones, the people dying, the Joker, the Joker, the Joker, the explosions, the Joker.

But when it got really bad, he would draw his mother.

He began to draw her now, his pen easily following the familiar lines, hazy in memory but made clearer with photographs that he hid in his dresser drawers. 

The strawberry blonde got up and started swaggering towards him.

He managed a full silhouette in black and white before he was interrupted.

He looked up as the strawberry blonde cleared his throat. The man then shot him a smile before plopping down cavalierly in the seat next to him. 

“ So, uh, nice night, hm?”said the man spinning his barstool back and forth a bit. Bruce grunted and looked back down at his notebook, leaning on his elbows down on the counter.

“I’m kidding, it's a horrible night, but it's just gotten a little, ah, less so.” Bruce looked up at this. 

The strawberry blonde was quite tall, and lean, with hair that fell in waves down, not unlike Bruce’s own. He wore a purple button down that was undone at the top, and slim black slacks. He had wonderful deep, jungle-green eyes that glistened almost predatorily down at Bruce. Bruce looked back up at him, equal parts mesmerized and questioning.

“Look, kid, you seem like you’re having a day. Believe me, I getcha, I’m having one myself, so whaddya say we split this scene and find ourselves some fun, hm?”

Bruce rose up off his elbows so he was nearly eye to eye with the man, and wordlessly tilted his head to the side, before allowing himself a small smile. He had fully intended to tell this kid to beat it, but what the hell, why not have a little fun.

“I wouldn’t be offerin if I didn't think you could handle it.”said the man, returning his small smile with a smile of his own, smug and enticing.

Bruce gave a nod, and felt his eyes go playful as they danced with the jungle green ones of the man next to him as they sized each other up. Finally, the man nodded back, and offered his hand to Bruce.

“What’s your name, kid?” He said, and that voice was so easy to get lost in and somehow so familiar, like old childhood hiking trials revisited.

“Bruce.” he replied, taking the man’s hand.

“I’m Jay.” Said the blonde, shaking Bruce’s hand and giggling slightly as his lips parted in a huge grin. “Come on, let’s scram, there’s gotta be something interresting happening somewhere.” 

And with that, they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm kind of in love with the headcannon that the Joker has strawberry blonde hair when it isn't green. 
> 
> Also, tell me what you think, maybe?   
> Comments and kudos are literally the best. 
> 
> Thank you lovely people for reading, and have an awesome day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June and Harley get acquainted. Harley doesn't really get this whole "friends" thing.

She blinked twice as the door slammed shut, and everything about her was both vehemently unnatural and undeniably, intimately human. June remembered her eyes, of course she did, but seeing them up so close was different; they were electric blue stage lights, now flitting around the room, a neon color June thought she had never seen before. Within them, pupils grew rapidly, from specks to eclipsing moons and back again. Beneath them, cheekbones jutted out, so sharp you could almost cut yourself on them.

June wanted to, anyway.

"Hello Harley," June said quietly.

For the first time since the door slammed, the girl's eyes locked again with June's own.

"Are...are you an angel?" She asked, her voice high and soft, tinged with suspicion and confusion.

June shook her head. "No. No, but I'm very glad to meet you." She said, stepping just a hair closer. "My name is June."

"My name is Harley. You called me Harley. You knew my name. How did you know that?" The girl asked, stepping backwards slightly, eyes darting around the room, hands twitching, readying to put up a fight.

June felt the beginnings of panic begin in her chest, and the dark thing in the back of her mind begin to rage against its bounds,  ** _she wants to hurt you, let me hurt her, let me, let me_** but Jane shook her head again,  _no, no you will not ruin this, she is a friend, you listen to me,_ and managed to get out

"The guards talk about you alot, is all. I already in here when they brought you in, I saw. That's all. That's all." She sought the eye contact with the now slightly shaking girl once more.

Green met blue.

"It's okay, Harley. I just. I don't know how long we'll be, um, we'll be living like this, but I'd, I'd really like to be friends,do you know?" June kept her voice as steady and comforting as she could, as the darkness still threatened to take over.

"Friends?" Harley asked. "I..I don't understand." She had stopped shaking, and had stepped a bit closer, looking more curious than confused now.

"Yea." Said June, regaining the reins on her darkness and stepping closer to Harley. "Friends. Where two people, I don't know, have fun together. Are..are nice to each other. Care about each other." June could feel heat begin to rise in her cheeks as she took in the girl before her.

Harley's eyes started to unfocus a little, and she took in her breath sharply, and backed away again,

"That sounds like...like him. He, he hurt me, when i didnt want him to, you can't hurt me, I won't let you hurt me, please don't, make him go away make it-"

"I will never hurt you unless you ask me to, Harley. Harley, look at me. That's not a friend. That's not me." June's voice swam in sincerity, and she reveled in comforting another human, a privilege she hadnt had for quite a while. 

"Really?" Harley murmured softly, sounding suspicious, sounding absent, and then without warning, she socked June in the jaw. 

"Not gonna hurt me? What about now?" She laughed hysterically after this with shaky breaths, her voice rising, advancing on June.

June felt the darkness start to bang on the door again, and though it took everything in her, she gathered herself and quieted it, holding her jaw and meeting Harley's eyes again.

"No. That's not what friends do."

"Oh." She said, her voice becoming quiet, contemplative. "Friends? I...I'll try it." She said, making a show of keeping her expression guarded.

June's face lit up. "Wonderful! Come sit."June said, crossing the small cell to sit on her bunk, patting the space next to her.

"What do friends...do, exactly?" She asked, inquisitively, sitting down, still cautious.

"Well, lets start by just talking."

...........

"Omigod, you did what?" June threw her head back giggling and Harley joined in with her signature laughter.

"It was...so invigorating."

"I'll bet it was."

Then, an instant, there was a loud buzzer sounded and all the lights went out. 

Harley shrieked and hugged her knees to her chest.

"Sh, its alright now,that's just curfew." June said, taking care to keep her voice soft.

"Curfew?" Asked Harley,incredulous.

"Yeah, curfew. You probably didn't have it down in your chamber, did you? Keep the lights on you all the time, eh? It's alright, now, its just so we can sleep." Harley nodded mutely.

"Now, there's a bunk above this bunk, ya see? I suppose thats why they put you with me, i think mine's one of they only units with two. One of us'll sleep down here, the other up there." Harley nodded again, still visibly shaken.

"I'll take the top one." She said, mustering up a half smile and climbing up.

"Good night." Said June.

"Sleep tight," replied Harley

..........

Friends.

Friends, friends, Friendsssss.

The whole thing seemed a little

sketchy at best, to Harley.

Did she ever have these

Friends?

She tried to recall,

Really,

REALLY

tried, but she couldn't remember anything before Him. 

And He was not a Friend, June said, June said specifically, but if she had nothing before Him than she'd never had one before, a friend.

She liked it.

That made it Daaaaangggerrrous, she knew.

Really,really,for real liking things was always dangerous.

But then, she liked danger.

With the agility of a cat, she rolled of her bunk silently and stood, in the dark, watching June, watching the rise and fall of her breath,

 

And suddenly that was not enough, she wanted to feel her heart beat,

Wanted to feel fleshy organ

blleeeeeedding

in her hands as it pumped, 

Wanted to snap each rib

One by one with her teeth

And somehow, she didn't want to hurt the girl.

At least, not badly, not so bad she'd die, or go away,

But Harley wanted, oh, she wanted, and she didn't know what it was that was propelling her but suddenly

Suddenly she was straddling June's chest and she could feel, between her legs, the expansion and gentle collapse of her lungs

And yet even this was not enough,

And so she reached out

Gently

And touched her face.

June started, her eyes flying open, and no, no she wasn't supposed to find out,

God damn,

God FRICKEN damn,

Because now she won't wanna be friends,

What were you thinking, stupid, STUPID

Harley retreated quickly to the farthest corner of the bunk, bringing her knees up to her chest and breathing too fassst, too much, and

"Harley, what...what were you doing?" 

June, June's voice, gotta answer,

"Um, being, being your friend?" Harley's voice was muffled, her eyes squeezed shut.

"That's not exactly what friends do, Harley." Harley whimpered,

Bad,

Bad,

"Hey. Hey, look at me, Harley." 

June again. 

Look up, look up

Green meets blue once more.

"I didn't say I didn't like it."

Harley didn't need light to see the half smile on June's face, and a happy laugh ripped through the night as she lunged back towards the girl on the other side of the bunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually pretty proud of this one.
> 
> Comments or kudos, maybe?
> 
> You guys are actually amazing, thank you so much for reading!!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> ....so, yeah. I tried to get inside their heads a bit, not sure of it worked.
> 
> Comments and kudos light up my days♡
> 
> Thank you lovely people so much for reading!!


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